Believer
"The way to read a fairy tale is to throw yourself in." - W. H. Auden
--
The days crawled by slowly for Elizabeth. She had had nothing to comfort her during drowsy hours of listening to Miranda go on and on about some male model named…well she couldn't exactly remember his name.
Perhaps Fabio…?
Her only solace was her spiral bound notebook with its crisp white pages with the imprints of faded notes etched out across every page.
In the past few days she had fathomed up all kinds of stories inspired by her various neighbors. Writing of Mr. and Mrs. Litcott's never-ending trysts in their gardens, of the suave Miss Gascoigne and her ongoing passionate affair with the mail carrier, and of course young little Mackenzie Pettwood and her awkward yet completely enduring courtship with her next door neighbor the handsome Timothy Etchingham.
With characters such as them Elizabeth's short stories came to life in front of her hazel eyes as she wrote till her hand cramped and then onward, only having stopped when her muscles had screamed in agony.
But when not listening to dear Miranda or writing to her heart's desire Elizabeth could be found in the old glass room curled up cozily on a cushioned bench, book in hand and eyes darting quickly over the words of books.
And that's precisely where she was today. It was a surprisingly sunny day, with shattered beams of sunlight shining down on Elizabeth as her toes clenched while she read on. Her hair was rolling down her shoulders as a single red strand fell from behind her ear to in front of her eye.
She barely batted her eyelashes and breathed in, huffed out and the strand was then curling around her face.
Elizabeth was enjoying the infamous epic the Iliad and was at the part where the Greeks were raiding the city of Troy, having entered through the disguise of the wooden horse. She gave a swoon-like sigh as she closed the book shut and leaned her head against the glass window, the coolness of it comforting against her freckled cheek.
How romantic it must have been for Helen. To have had her lover risk all of his country for the sake of their doomed love.
Why couldn't men of today behave like their ancestors centuries ago?
Why were wars now waged over religion and power instead of love and passion? Why was the divorce rate rising with every year? Why were men living as bachelors all their lives and women as spinsters claiming to be independent?
That was how Lillian Samuell found her daughter, pondering over the differences of men of today and the past. Lillian seated herself stiffly in a wooden chair in front of Elizabeth and cleared her throat when it had become apparent that her daughter's mind was elsewhere.
Elizabeth looked up startled to see her mother before her and blinked. When had she arrived? And how had she arrived so inconspicuously?
"Mum." Elizabeth greeted, running a hand through her hair as her mother's eyes flashed to the closed book sprawled over Elizabeth's lap. She nodded approvingly at her young one's choice of literature.
"Good read." she observed with a cool casualness as Elizabeth looked down, ran her fingers over the title and nodded.
"Yes, it is."
"What part are you at?"
"When Troy goes up into flames and everything else goes to pot."
"Nice to know it hasn't changed since I last flipped through it." Lillian dryly quipped as Elizabeth grinned and nodded, "I doubt it would or else it would all be terribly anticlimactic."
Lillian nodded as Elizabeth for the first time noticed the fair amount of wrinkles swaying over her mother's forehead. Was her age finally catching up to her? Or was it the brutal side effects of her having worn her hair in a severe bun ever since Elizabeth could remember.
Elizabeth deducted that it was mostly both, seeing as her mother was old and severe.
A lovely combination for a woman who had claimed all her life to be a loving and sweet mother.
"So how is Sorbonne, I forgot to ask earlier." The truth was she hadn't forgotten, she had just been to busy with Miranda to have caught Elizabeth alone and to grill her on her college experience. But even more truthful was that Elizabeth had been thankful that her mother hadn't spent personal one-on-one time with her. But alas, that was no longer…drat.
"Sorbonne…is French. As it should be." Elizabeth gave a little giggle but stop when she saw her mother's hawk like eyes narrow ever so slightly. A warning of sorts to shape up or be set to bed without any dinner or dessert.
Elizabeth's chuckled died in her throat as she coughed to clear it and gazed steadily at her mother, who even at the age of fort-four was still a very intimidating woman who didn't take anything from anyone.
"Sorbonne…is well great. My classes are going remarkably well and I really am learning a lot from my English professor Ms. Huddleston. She just brings everything together and is so very lucid…it's wonderful."
Elizabeth gushed as her dark eyes lit up with her appreciation of writing, something her mother ignored or chose not to understand. Just as Elizabeth was going over the different theories they had been running over in class the doorbell rang cutting Elizabeth off mid word.
"My, I wonder who that could be." Lillian remarked as her eyes flashed dangerously for a moment before returning to their natural state of coldness. Elizabeth stared questioningly at her mother for a moment as the bell sounded again and Lillian exclaimed.
"Well don't just sit here, go on and answer it for goodness sake." Her voice was crisp and her command final. With a heavy and defeated sigh Elizabeth rose, leaving the Iliad reluctantly behind. She walked through the house; her purple sock covered feet lightly slapping the wood flooring as she came out of the parlor and stood in the foyer in front of the front door.
She undid the lock and hatch and the pulled the door open to be met with an unpleasant surprise. For who stood before her was a bane in her side that she had thought she was rid of long ago.
That bane in her side would be none other than Jeremy Bradbridge.
Standing before her looking the same as ever with jet black hair slicked back, eyelashes longer than any normal person, male or female, should have, pale skin making his green eyes pop unnaturally. He hadn't changed at all since school.
They had been…friendly of sorts to each other during their formative teenage years. They had shared secretive glances and rapid kisses in empty classrooms, pointless conversations at various hours of the night and a few sneaking out to be with each other in the winter chill.
Yes, than had been more than friendly…they had been madly in puppy love. They had vowed to always be with one another, to marry and move to the countryside with their picket fence, dog and two children. But like most vows coming from the mind of thoughtless teenagers, they had hardly lasted their last year of school.
So it was quite a shock to Elizabeth to see ol' Jeremy Bradbridge standing before her with his black hair, long eyelashes, green eyes and pale skin. Quite a shock, indeed, to say the least.
"What are you doing here?" Elizabeth blurted out as Jeremy raised a thick eyebrow and laughed.
"Is that how the French greet each other now? Because I must say, I prefer the English greeting instead."
Elizabeth glowered at him and leaned against her doorframe, arms crossed over her chest as she eyed him, waiting. Finally after several long moments he caved and with a sigh gritted out.
"I heard you were back on holiday leave."
"Correct."
"And I heard that you would be staying here."
"Also correct, job well done Jeremy, you must feel so proud."
He ignored the sharpness of her tone and continued onward.
"And I was hoping that we could go out, for old time's sake."
Just as Elizabeth was about to open her mouth to refuse a cheerful voice declared from behind them,
"I think that would be a marvelous idea."
Elizabeth turned on her heel to see her mother standing there, severe bun and all.
"You do?!" Elizabeth asked as Lillian nodded, a Cheshire grin stretching out across her thin face.
"Yes, I do. Go on darling get out, enjoy yourself." Her grin was too large, eyes too bright and demeanor too happy. Elizabeth knew right away that this had been a carefully and precisely planned setup.
"You invited him over." Elizabeth accusingly hissed as her mother's grin widened ever so slightly, an answer to her allegation.
"You two have fun now." Lillian all but shoved Elizabeth and Jeremy out the door as Elizabeth cried out appallingly.
"I don't even have shoes on!" she wiggled her sock covered feet for good measure.
The only answer to that was a par of boots being chucked at her head.
--
"It's not funny!" Elizabeth gritted out through clenched teeth to the nearly sobbing Hadrienne on the other line.
"Yes it is! You would be laughing too if it had happened to some poor lass and not you." Hadrienne argued back as Elizabeth debated whether on countering further but decided against it. Truth be told she would be in hysterics too if it had happened to someone else.
But it had happened to her so she was in no mood to see the funny side of things.
"Shut up, your mum never forced you on a date with your ex and all but threw you out of the house." she muttered back, stretched lazily out on the couch in the living room of the Samuell household. It was past sunset and Elizabeth's parents were out and about at some charity event or another sponsored by Elizabeth's father's firm.
While Elizabeth did believe in reuniting with former loves she did not see that ever happening to her and Jeremy. And their date had proven her theory undeniably right. The poor chap never stopped speaking of his time at King's College London and all the girls that were throwing themselves at his tailored feet.
It had been a painful reminder as to why the pair had broken up little over a year ago. And while there were some roads Elizabeth was willing to go down in the name of love, Jeremy would never be walking alongside her.
Elizabeth was about to respond but was interrupted when the front door opened and in walked Miranda. Elizabeth hastily said goodbye to her friend just as Miranda expertly wiggled from her leather jacket and sprawled herself in the lounging chair next to the couch.
"Elizabeth." she greeted solemnly as Elizabeth replied in the same.
"Miranda."
The two Samuell girls sat in silence as Elizabeth's mind began to wander to other places. Not of romance but of the past. Being home again it brought back so many memories.
Long Live King Peter! Long Live Queen Susan! Long Live King Edmund! Long Live Queen Lucy!
The memory floated into her head as she glanced at her sister who was graciously picking at her nails.
"Miranda, remember when we were younger and Grandma Madeline would tell us stories of that country hidden in a wardrobe? Remember Narnia?"
Miranda looked up in disinterest before shrugging.
"Sure, it's hard to forget old loony Grandma Madeline's stories. I remember this one about a witch or something or other…completely out there if you know what I mean."
"The White Witch and it wasn't such a crazy story."
Miranda snorted and retorted, "That's because you have the mental capacity of a five year old. You and your stupid fairy tales, no wonder mum is always so worried about you."
Elizabeth fumed from her spot; it was one thing to insult her it was another thing entirely to insult her fairy tales. Miranda sensing her sister's sore feelings decided to make amends by going a different route. With a dramatic sigh she spoke.
"If you really want to revisit Narnia or whatever it's called, go one up to the attic. Grandma Madeline's old paintings are still up there."
Elizabeth jumped up from the couch and flew up the stairs, wasting no time. She came upon the hallway and froze right under the strand of rope hanging from the attic hatch. She yanked down on the rope and the ladder popped out with rusty ease.
She stepped forward and made her way up the creaky steps; she pushed the wooden hatch open and immediately found herself in the murky and dusty darkness of the attic. She breathed in the dust and hacked it out as she groped for the light switch.
She finally found it and dim rays of light scattered about the room. It took her only moment for her eyes to adjust to the overcast of shadows lurking about around her. She hesitantly stepped forward as her eyes took in the numerous shapes and sizes of picture frames, all concealing her grandmother's pride.
Elizabeth took her time moving around the room, peering at every drawing and painting, letting every imprint be permanently etched into her mind. Flashbacks from long ago swept in and out of her mind so quickly everything was becoming muddled together into one large memory.
Just as she placed down a beaming portrait of a towering castle another painting caught her eye. It was of four rulers, two men and two women, all seated upon plush thrones with golden and silver crowns woven through their thick manes of hair.
To the glistening Eastern Sea, I give you Queen Lucy the Valliant. To the great Western Woods, King Edmund the Just. To the radiant Southern Sun, Queen Susan the Gentle. And to the clear Northern Skies, King Peter the Magnificent.
She could hear the airy voice of Grandma Madeline in her ear as her eyes trained on the face of the dark haired youth, King Edmund the Just. Of all her visions of her grandmother the one of her staring at this portrait of King Edmund always stood out the brightest.
She remembered how Madeline's eyes had softened and her voice's tone had changed just enough to tell you that something had changed within her. And the way she had gazed at the young king's face.
It had been like they were in love.
Elizabeth gave a little chuckle and shook her head. It seemed the dust was getting to her. Her gaze moved from King Edmund to his brother, King Peter. With his sturdy face, warrior build and cascading golden locks he was a very handsome man.
"I bet you could sweep any woman off her feet, High King Peter the Magnificent." she placed the picture down and just as she did so she heard a crash from behind her. She turned quickly; hand poised to her heart, and found herself alone in the attic, a frame lying at her feet.
How odd, for a picture to just fall like that.
With an embarrassed smile she bent down to pick the picture up and stared thoughtfully down at it. It was different than the others; it was not of rulers or seas, mountains or castles. Its color scheme wasn't bright nor brilliant but dreary with browns and greens.
It was of a marshland.
Just as she was to look away something within the picture caught her eye. The murky water of the marsh was…moving. The swells of its waves moving quicker and quicker as the sound of a humid environment began to engulf Elizabeth.
She tried to let go, to stand back to run far away. But she couldn't, a vice like grip fell over her as her feet left the ground and her head began to felt heavy. But she couldn't look away from the picture.
She only did when she fell into darkness and heard the distant ringing of a mighty roar.
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Please read and review! I do not own the Chronicles of Narnia!